


Boules de Mer

by Missy



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Humor, Museums, Paris (City), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lily and Marshall have a brief flirtation in an art museum in Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boules de Mer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XII: Prompt: How I Met Your Mother, Marshall Eriksen/Lily Aldrin, Paris, art. Thanks to Amber for beta.

“Can you imagine, honey?” Lily sighed, pausing under the oversized oilwork of a Dutch farm family tilling hay. “A masterwork from the twelfth century.”

“SCORE!” Marshall shouted, waving aloft his phone. Lily glared up at him, and he hoisted his iPhone over his head. “I finally beat level twenty on Angry Birds, baby!”

“En Francais…” she whispered. “En Francais and en silence!” she demanded.

“Sorry,” he muttered softly, a little sheepish, his default mode. She turned away fuming and looked toward the wall of paintings arranged salon-style across the long gold-gilded room. Then she felt a warm arm wrap around her back.

“Lil, I don’t want to keep talking in French for this whole vacation,” he whispered against the top of her head. “Can we please just keep looking at the pretty pictures?”

“But you’re not looking at them!” Lily said. “You’ve been stuffing your face with pastries and trying to moon people off the top of the Eiffel Tower!”

“Shh,” he whispered, “okay…I’ve been a jerk…But only because I don’t know how I should act. You’re the one who knows everything about Paris.”

She pouted up at him. “I made you a lesson plan,” she replied. “Remember – ‘when in France, you do not smile – but pout and say ‘si difficle’.”

“Let me make it up to you?” He kissed the top of her head again, and brought his other hand to the middle of her back, caressing skin through her fashionable baby blue trench coat before kneading her muscles through the material. “Woah, you’re tense,” he noticed, and started kneading the back of her neck. She heard him unsnap the back of her top and froze.

“Marshall,” Lily warned him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. His hands made gentle circles against the middle of her back, working the muscles loose with sheer heat and persistence. She hummed at last, leaning back against his chest. Marshall was tall and sturdy; he made her feel safe no matter where they were, as long as they were together. That’s why she didn’t protest when he slid a hand between the widely-spaced buttons of the raincoat and fondled her breast. She loved this, his little preludes as he pressed his lips to her earlobe and shaped her body under his eager hands – even through the layers of cloth she could feel her nipple pebble up hard against his fingers. He weighed it with his cupped palm before kneading it briefly, then sliding across their breadth. His nails gently scraped the centers, rolling the tips for a minute, then his right hand slipped down her belly, under the loose waistband of her skirt and the waistband of her plain cotton panties.

Lily lost her breath. “Marshall!”

“Baby, I promise no one can see us…” Lily loved her husband, but she knew he’d tell her almost anything just so he could get his hand between her legs. She took a quick cautionary look over her shoulder, and then limply rested her head on his shoulder.

As Lily examined the rows of aristocratic Frenchmen, pained Italian Madonnas and British ladies of the aristocracy, Marshall’s middle finger made a tentative trip down the downy split between her legs. As the middle quested toward the entrance of her sex Lily suddenly remembered what Marshall had blurted out the first time she'd let him slide a hand down her panties. "Holy cow, Lily! You don't feel like apple pie at all!" She muffled a laugh behind a bitten lip; and then she forgot to think, as two fingers dipped into and out of her sex in a slow, easy rhythm. It felt good, but it was just an appetizer; Marshall’s fingers skirted upward and brushed her clit at last, whispering against her with delicacy. His finger stopped stretching her and she closed her eyes.

Lily saw the blue of the room’s walls, muted by veins and pale reds as the sensitivity grew and threatened to drive her backwards and into Marshall’s lap. She couldn’t do much for him at the moment, not with him directing all of his attention to her most sensitive place; so she kissed his neck and rotated her hips, lips slightly parted and a pained smile on her face. When he tried to penetrate her again, she gripped him with her inner muscles, the lushness of her sex collapsing playfully around him before she relaxed again.

It lifted Lily out of her heels, what Marshall was doing to her; he was back at her clit, and the gentle stroking had turned to a rubbing motion. He never gave her too much friction, promising instead plesure, teasing her with the promise of an orgasm. Lily leaned back into his arms again, feeling him rub her breasts through the layers of wool and cotton that covered Lily’s slim body.

She jerked upward into Marshall’s gripping arm when he rocked his thumb against her clit, so he repeated the gesture until she bit back a whine and her spine jerked to attention. Her thighs quivered hard against his hand, and she stood on her tiptoes and then collapsed backward, panting as her body jerked and her sex pulsed against his palm.

After a few moments, Lily regained her senses. Marshall’s smile was as pained as hers had been a moment before, but it was loving. She kissed his cheek. “Triple score,” she teased him.

“I love you, Lilypad,” he replied. They gently broke apart, and Lily straightened her clothing. When Marshall took her hand to lead her out of the gallery, she noticed how stiff his stride was. “Oh sweetie! Did I hurt you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. I’ll walk it off,” he said. His expression read ‘take me to the hotel and ravage me,’ but Lily had just enough vengeance left in her heart to make him wait. A case of boules de mer wouldn’t kill him, and she hadn’t seen any of the African tribal masks on the fourth floor…

“I think we skipped the sculpture garden,” she said, pirouetting Marshall around and walking with him back outside. His groan echoed through the empty hall louder than her own cries had been.


End file.
